


Brush

by tasare



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brush, Discipline, F/M, Father/Daughter, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2307287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasare/pseuds/tasare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin delivers a long overdue punishment to his daughter, fury ignited by her transgression with Lancel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brush

Cersei had not felt this afraid since she was a child. The door shut behind the guards that her father had dismissed with nothing more than a word, and she knew she could not show her fear. 

“Take your clothes off.” Tywin didn’t look at her, facing his dressing table. He picked up a hairbrush, of clean and polished tortoise shell, with bristles hard and sharp. It had belonged to Joanna, once, and it had never left his things, coming with him, packed up with his razor as if it were his, though he did not have nearly enough hair to get any use out of it. Finally he turned and saw that his daughter had not moved to obey. “Now.” his voice was no roar, yet it carried all the power of one. 

“I will not.” Cersei said firmly. “I am your queen, not some child who-”

“You are still my child, and you will remove your clothes unless you wish to be assisted in that task.” his eyes were fixed on her as hers looked right back at him. 

Spare yourself the public shame, a voice in Cersei’s head told her. Pleading her way out of punishment- even if she was far too old- would be showing her fear of it. She was not ashamed of her naked body. She flushed slightly pink at the thought of what her father would say if he could hear her thoughts. That it was obvious that she had no shame, she wouldn’t have taken her uncle’s son to bed if she did. Yet she turned her head away from him so he couldn’t see the flush in the low light, and she unlaced her gown and let it slide off of her shoulders.

Smallclothes removed as well, everything, leaving her bare save for the golden patch between her legs, in front of her father. It was only then that she saw the brush in his hand, her mother’s brush, and thoughts of her mother brought forth the twitch of her lips that was her only reaction so far. She hadn’t seen the brush since the last time she had gotten in trouble before her mother died. It didn’t often happen, but Cersei had been playing in an area her mother deemed too dangerous, and when caught, Cersei felt the sting of the hairbrush on her little six year old bottom. She had bawled, until her mother came to her and hugged her and told her that she was sorry for losing her temper, but she had just been so afraid that Cersei would be hurt. 

Cersei let out an audible scoff. “Are you going to spank me, father?” she looked him right in the eye, not showing an ounce of fear. 

“Eventually.” he told her, through grit teeth. “I knew that you would be a problem, you know. You think your mother never told me about when she found you and your brother…?” he asked. “I wanted to welt your brother from his backside down to his knees, and have your mother give you a proper hiding as well. But it was natural, Joanna said, and she moved your bedrooms apart.” he frowned. “And now you have gone and spread your legs for your cousin.” his lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. “I should have done this long ago.” he put the brush down on the foot of his bed, where a footboard about two inches thick held it. He took a belt and strapped it to the footboard, so it would not move. “Show me.” he told her. “Show me how you would ride Lancel.” he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest.

She looked at the brush and then back up to him. Her pride was unbroken, she refused to even cross her arms over her chest. Her body bore the scars and wears of motherhood and abuse, badges of honor that she wore with pride. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am.” Tywin said. “It’s not an act you’re unfamiliar with, though I can instruct you, if need be.” 

The silence in the room was deafening as she straddled the footboard, lowering herself over the brush, hardly able to break eye contact with her father. She was a lioness of the rock, and she would not be seen as weak, certainly not before her father. The bristles dug into the soft skin of her thighs and closer. She moved back up, then down.

“Harder.” the voice commanded, and her hands gripped the bedpost before her. Tywin’s eyes were locked on hers, something Cersei was unused to. A man’s eyes- even Jaime’s, they would go to her tits, her curves, they would have some semblance of being pleased with what was before them, but not her father. His arousal would come from her shame, and she would not give him that.

“Did you ride him for his pleasure or your own?”

“Mine.” she was defiant. 

“Then show me. Grind as if you wish to make it feel good.” 

She stared at the wall now, unblinking, though she couldn’t help to moan out as she sought out the position of the most pleasure. It almost felt good. Nearly. Her clit was bumping against the bristles, no matter how painful it was, she began to realize her arousal, and shame began to creep in behind her eyes, hot. She blinked it away. She desperately wanted relief. He didn’t need to command her to continue, her knuckles were white as she rode the brush, knowing there would be scapes on her inner thighs, her cunt. Perhaps Jaime would kiss them better. She would make up some story as to why they had happened. She couldn’t tell him… not of this… 

Lost in thought, she didn’t hear as Tywin came up close to her until his hand was on her chest, and she realized her nipples had become hard in the cool air, and she stopped suddenly. He jerked the brush from her groin and ran his fingers over the moist bristles. “Does this arouse you as much as fucking your cousin did?” he asked, the brush coming before her face, now. “Taste it. Taste your whoreish juices on there.” he waited until her tongue had come out and been hastily sucked back into her mouth. “I should have done this years ago. This could have spared you a lot of pain. But I suppose it’s none too late.” he told her. “I wouldn’t punish you after your mother died, I had to trust that to a septa, yet they were clearly soft on you.” he said. “Bend over the bed.”

She didn’t know what would maintain her dignity more, to obey without begging or pleading, to show him that she was not afraid, or to tell her father that she was a woman grown, a queen, and that she would not bend to his whims. She wished he would burst into flames. She may have respected him, but in that moment she let herself fantasize about all the ways she could punish him. She was still queen and he was the hand of the king, a mere servant. Yet she still had a choice to make.

She settled for the former. Her face burned with what she told herself was anger, that it certainly was not shame or remorse. For bedding Lancel. For loving her brother. For the juices dripping down her thighs as her father settled behind her to deliver her a beating- no, a spanking, such as one might give to a child. The pain was as bad as she remembered, worse, really, as she seemed to imagine the pain of it would have lessened as she was an adult. It had not and she buried her face in the bedding, refusing to cry out for him.

He did not cease until she was as red as their house colors, and her shoulders were shaking silently with sobs she was hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did, but he didn’t comment on them. Her witty replies would get him nowhere, so he turned the brush so that his hands wrapped around the bristles, still warm and wet from her, and he sunk the handle into her drenched cunt. She cried out at that, unable to hold it back as he pumped away inside of her, brush handle angled down, toward her belly button but not nearly close enough to reach. It wasn’t as if he did not know how to pleasure a woman, yet this was no pleasure. This was simple, forcing her to orgasm for him with no pleasure involved. Friction increased on the brush and he could tell she was tightening for him. The only sobs he heard were when she climaxed, her arousal dripping down her leg. 

And she was punished. The queen, the lioness, the lady of the rock, was nothing more than a whore bent over his bed for his pleasure, slick with base needs and salty tears. 

He didn’t need to speak a word. He dropped the brush onto the bed, just where she could turn her head to see it. He knew he had won, he had broken her, he had made her sob into the sheets with the humiliation of coming for him, and that in itself was satisfaction enough for Tywin Lannister.

The door to the tower of the hand shut, and Cersei was left alone with her thoughts on sheets soaked with her tears and shameful climax.


End file.
